Life on the Roof of the World

In the February 2013 issue of National Geographic magazine, there is an article dedicated to the Kyrgyz people of Afghanistan, a nomad people who live in one of the most remote areas of the world. Much of their land is above 14,000 feet, making for very harsh winters. Their isolation was further sealed by the Russians and British in the 19th century, who both fought for influence in Central Asia. The Kyrgyz became stuck in a cul de sac buffer zone, whose borders became eventually sealed with the Russian Revolution of 1917 and the Chinese Revolution of 1949. To reach the nearest existing road takes a three day trek through treacherous mountain terrain. The result of this isolation is a startlingly high mortality rate, as there are no doctors, no hospital, no medicine. Less than half the children live past the age of five. A road closer by their land would connect the Kyrgyz people to the outside world and end the  harshness imposed by their isolation. But that road is unlikely to materialize. To build a road that would possibly cost close to a hundred million dollars, for 1,100 people in a poverty and war stricken country sounds unreasonable. The article struck a chord with me. I consider myself a person at peace with her heart and its story, after all the loss of family due to betrayal and tragic illnesses. So, like the Kyrgyz people, even though there is some harshness in my story's history, I appreciate the beauty of living on my own terms. And like the Kyrgyz, the isolation they endure strikes a chord too, as the isolation my life deals with is the result of a certain hesitation to be as vulnerable as I was before, and like them, I too long for a road out of that isolation. Writing and therapy before it, became a tool to find a path that can eventually feel sturdy enough to be the foundation of a strong road out of the pasts dead end street for good. Like the Kyrgyz, who consider themselves untamed people, hesitant to let go of heir way of life, I too hesitate to surrender my hard won emotional resolve and strength and am conflicted about a road that would reconnect me to a more gregarious life again. Like the Kyrgyz, I dream of the road and certain days I am convinced it's just around the corner, and other days I know I am just kidding myself, that it will continue to take hard every day effort to break down the tall wall I built around myself in order to survive the trauma of loss and betrayal. Everything comes at a price. The Kyrgyz know that their ultimate survival may depend on the building of the road, just like that same road could eventually spell the end of their way of life, as they would have a choice to leave and choose a less harsh way. So I also know that if I persist in the isolation, it may be my undoing, but giving it up may mean a compromise of my hard earned claim on dignity and freedom from manipulation and meek surrender to compromise. My time is running out, I know, I will not be able to deny the road out much longer, but for now, the lone tiger in me is proud to prowl the lone valley that is just my own.

A Chunk of Light

The last couple of days we have been soaked in grey rain and grey skies. To me, the lack of color and light for long stretches of time is always a challenge in wintertime here. This afternoon, on the drive home along the equally grey lake by our house, the sky broke open like a large fruit, revealing a chunk of bright blue, with white clouds spilling out like shredded string. I took a deep breath, it was a stunning sight, turning the grey water  of the lake below a charcoal shade of black. The sight made me think what a friend of mine in Texas would be able to create with his camera and paint brushes. Light, color, such a treat on a dismally grey winter day.
Thank you John Carlisle Moore, for the beauty of your Cloud Series paintings and their photographs you shared on Facebook.

Le Trou.

J'ai un copain avec qui je maintiens contact via des messages electroniques. Des phrases brefs, des salutations, comment vas t-tu, bonjour, bonne journee, des mots simples. Avec le temps qui passe, ces messages sont devenus une forme d'amitie redecouverte apres une absence de presque 30 ans. On etait amis pendant graduate school au Texas, a Austin. Mon ami voyage beaucoup, et de temps a temps , il  a des semaines ou je ne recoit pas de ses nouvelles. Il re appaprait , s'excusant pour le silence, et on se ratrappe et la conversation continue. Cela me faisait penser a un trou. Comme un trou dans une poche qui commence tout petit, et si on ne le coude pas, il devient plus grand. J'espere de tout coeur que le petit trou qui apparait de temps a temps, ne devient pas plus grand, et aspire notre amitie fragile au highway electronique.

I have a friend with whom I maintain contact via electronic messages. Brief sentences, greetings, how are you, hello, have a good day, simple words. With the passage of time, these messages have become a way to rediscover a friendship that was lost almost 30n years ago. We were friends in graduate school in Austin, Texas. My friend travels a lot, and from time to time, there are weeks where I don't hear from him. He then reappears, apologizing for the prolonged silence. That made me think of a hole.Like a hole in a pocket, that starts small, and if you don't sew it up, it becomes larger. I hope wholeheartedly that the little hole that appears from time to time does not become larger, and aspirates our friendship along the fragile electronic highway.

I wrote this in French  first ,because my friend was raised speaking Arabic and French, apart from also speaking fluent English too. French is a language I feel very comfortable using as I started learning it in Belgium at age 12.

Rage

Don't tell me who I am
don't tell me what I need
Just because you know my name
doesn't mean you can claim
my challenges,
my pain.

Don't tell me what to do
don't mock my weaknesses
Just because I talk to you
doesn't mean my energy
my heart
are yours.

Don't pretend to listen
I can see it in your blank eyes
that what I say
doesn't matter to you anyhow.

Let it go, let it go,
I belong to me,
so, if you want to, if you care
take my hand, gently, and

Listen, listen!
To my silence, to my tears,

And then I will feel justified
in sharing not just my physics
but my soul, my me!

Trudi Ralston
January 9th, 2013.

I wrote this poem for all those times that relationships with spouses, friends, neighbors, friends, children, in laws, people in general, drive us nuts with their addiction to control. Back off!!

Reflections on Rainer Maria Rilke

When I was 17, I discovered a copy of Lao - Tzu's "Tao - Te - Ching " in my father's library. The discovery blew me away. My most favorite saying of Lao -Tzu will always be : "Silence is the highest revelation." As someone who got plenty of of opportunity to savor solitude as a teenager, and later on in life again, when my family imploded, silence became a friend as familiar as a favorite sweater. I just recently discovered Rainer Maria Rilke, who seems to have been no stranger to solitude and the challenges it presents. One thing I am learning from Rilke's experience with this particular companion of human existence, is that solitude works best in conveying its lessons, if you stop resisting and fighting it. You have to go in bare knuckled, it seems. I am learning , a little late in life, that a big part of self acceptance is rooted in the ability to spend time with yourself in a comfortable manner. Modern life is very clever at making us believe we are capable of spending time by ourselves, what with computers and cell phones, and video games. And yes, these can make alone time more pleasant, but true solitude and its ultimate gifts demand we sometimes turn everything off in order to hear the tunes and music , and voice of our inner self. That is a challenge these days, but I am beginning to figure out that Rilke, and Lao-Tzu  before him, were absolutely right in insisting on the importance of silence in this self discovery adventure. Quiet is an absolute requirement, the kind of quiet you might experience walking through a forest, or on a quiet morning stroll, where you start to tune in to the sounds and voices all around you, from birds, frogs, wind, water. In " Letters to a young poet" (Rome, December 23, 1903), Rilke says : "Only the person who accepts solitude can place himself under the deep laws of the universe. When he steps into the fresh morning or out into the event-filled evening, all that is not him falls away, as if he had died, although he stands in the teeming midst of life." It seems quiet is essential to self understanding, and with that understanding comes acceptance. It is sinking into my heart and mind, finally, that the better friends you are with yourself, the better chances you have of developing friendships that are worthwhile and nourishing. As someone trying to reach out with my poems and stories and thoughts, I find great truth in Rilke's advice: "As you unfold as an artist, just keep on, quietly and earnestly, growing thorough all that happens to you. You cannot disrupt this process more violently than by looking outside yourself for answers that may only be found by attending to your innermost feeling." (Letters to a young poet. Paris, February 17, 1903). Some things never go out of style.

Freedom

This morning, while enjoying a nice, hot shower to wash away the emotional hangover of last night 's New Year's Eve, I started thinking about Mel Gibson as Scottish freedom fighter William Wallace. Somehow the actor's passionate and convincing portrayal of the historical Wallace moved me as I thought about  my own longing and struggle with freedom, on a personal level. As an invisible daughter to a very narcissistic mother, I struggle to this day with self realization, and the fight for identity and basic recognition, emotionally, socially and intellectually seems daily fare. Freedom on a grand scale the way William Wallace fought and died for is deeply profound as it is tied to basic human rights of life, dignity and freedom from fear , hunger and persecution. But somehow his hungry, fierce cry for freedom stirs deep longings profoundly neglected that make me get up each day and try again to move forward and make sense of my life and some of its past emotional brutality. There is great courage in being a hero, like William Wallace who was martyred for his tenacious struggle to obtain freedom for Scotland from England's brutal oppression at the time. There is great courage in the soldier who suffers or dies on battlefields across the world, and great courage in artists and intellectuals who stand up to tyrannical governments to ask for human rights such as freedom of speech, assembly, freedom from imprisonment and torture, and hunger and violence. Great courage from the journalists who risk their lives to go to war zones to report what they see to the world, great love and devotion from the doctors , nurses and countless volunteers who go to war torn hell holes to bring relief and hope, medicine and comfort to the afflicted people there. They are amazingly heroic souls who inspire us, guide our sense of morality and responsibility. But I think we must also take into account the daily struggles of millions of people who have the courage to get up each day, and try again, to be decent human beings just trying to provide for their families, their children's future, their elderly parents' needs, their community, their friends and neighbors. All of us are heroes when we do the best we can each day again, to make life a little brighter for those in our surroundings. The yearning for freedom can come in many shades and shapes, and we all have dreams we aspire to, with varying degrees of success and passion. Just like William Wallace, believe in the dream of freedom you yearn for. In my case, it is a yearning to reach out and teach through my writing the lessons I have learned along the way, and to see my artistically talented son succeed, in spite of financial challenges in stressful economic times. It is my dream to continue to make a difference, one small contribution at a time, one petition at a time,in the fight against animal cruelty, and to keep taking in shelter pets, like I have now for over 25 years, no matter how exhausting it can be , physically and emotionally. To keep believing in my marriage, in spite of all the negative ghosts and family skeletons and family relationship nightmares. To keep learning about art and photography,about  world cultures and world music as a way to bridge differences. To keep trying to reach out to family I lost in our family war. I am sure your dreams are just as worthy, and demand just as much effort and energy. Just keep on keeping on. Some people , like William Wallace, were destined to inspire an entire country. Some inspire an entire city, an entire church, or an entire family. I just want to keep having the strength to keep believing in my fight for inner freedom, the right to it, that will ultimately set me free on the outside, too. "Freedom !" yelled William Wallace with his dying breath, and so "Freedom!", I sing to my self in the shower this morning. It is January first of a new year, and today and tomorrow again, and the next day, I will try again to break those chains that hold me back from realizing my dreams and I will keep trying to bring my portion of light, love and hope where I can.